


Sunlight and Moonlight

by BubblegumCannibal



Series: With Honor and Magic [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (these are for me whoops lmao), Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Imalia Monette, Imalia Monette-Trevelyan, Imalia Trevelyan, M/M, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblegumCannibal/pseuds/BubblegumCannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian has been quite smitten about the Inquisitor's god-brother for he quite literally fits the "tall, dark, and handsome" trope that just seems to be enough for him. Interesting thing is, he's a mage Grey Warden-- and a Commander at that. Truth be told, he thought the man would find him boring for a "evil 'Vint," but here they are, infatuated as if they were young teenagers again.</p><p>Kink meme AU challenge/General Meme Prompt Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever want to write a series pertaining your Inquisitor’s AU? This is it. This is literally it. Taking fact that this is AU, it’s virtually taking my main Trevelyan and making him a Warden while a cousin has taken the role of Inquisitor. Only saying that if she is mentioned. Seeing how this is a Kink Meme/AU Prompt Meme challenge, I'll try to keep each prompt title in the title or somewhere in the notes. You know, just in case. Please—enjoy. :)
> 
> \--
> 
> Prompt: First time.

_“I love you.”_ Those words left heat in the Knight’s heart for he held so much belief that he had not deserved them. Though Dorian laid there, expression timid and dark skin reddened, **_those words—_** ever so simple, yet dangerously intimate— meant the most.

An interesting situation, really. Months ago, they kept things mutual with side conversation and idle flirting that seemed so playful at the time. Though, just days prior, they had been too nervous to hold the other’s hand, let alone whisper such words to each other in such fervor—it was too much! Yet now, moving with one another in bliss, had they cast aside such fears in hopes to learn what it took to enjoy his beloved’s company by seeing who he really was in his most vulnerable state.

It’s fascinating, they had opened up a part of each other one another thought they’d never see. Imalia came across primal, but passionate as he kept his thrust harsh but slow and a fist full of short black hair to keep his lover’s attention on him. Dorian had asked him to ‘ _love him,_ ’ had he not? To which his Enchanter could only answer with one word: ‘ _Perfect._ ’ He was to make love to him—not use him. Dorian Pavus was **_no_** prostitute. This was no night to rid himself of a quick desire. This was different. He was to prove that this was the most important man in his life. And Maker guide what left in his heart still held faith and help him prove every last second.

For Dorian it was… different. Far what the other man found normal when it came to his own skewed views of “romance.” There were moments where he wanted nothing but to be felt as if he belonged to someone; to be claimed, if he could say that. Yet tonight, it was a bit more than that. Slight groan escaping his throat, hips rolling against his other in heavenly satisfaction, “A-ahh, _carissime_ …” He wanted more. Dorian wanted to _feel_ loved. He wanted like something other than someone’s toy—granted he was the one who stepped into that position every time, lover or not. But now it was a demand, if this man really claimed to have loved him as he did.

With tan legs wrapped around his lover’s waist, his hips bucked with excitement, begging to be pulled in even more with every hard thrust. Cock strained in his hand, fingers teasing his own reddened tip— ** _Blessed Andraste_** —he couldn’t take it, but he could not demand his beloved to stop. Dorian needed more— _harder, faster,_ but his voice couldn’t past the first crack of him whimpering Imalia’s name. Blessed be thy name, the necromancer is cursed. Bewitched, more so, under Imalia’s touch. Oh, he’s yearned for this for so long, questing for someone to fuck him like this, to… to _love_ him like this.

Dorian Pavus is a weak man under his kiss. Though hickies were left with small reddening, almost purple marks down his neck, bite marks along his shoulders and chest, they compared to nothing of the breathless kisses shared ‘twixt moans. He’s missed this more than a man should and no amount of one night stands could equal to what was given here.  The mage even whined when the red-head pulled away. It was his taste he had succumbed to, always tasting of apple cider or faint putrid Marcher ales—by the gods, he adored it.

“Fa-ahh-sta vass, amatus,” words were choked, stuttered within moans as nails clawed into the Warden’s tattooed biceps. Beautiful those muscular things were, even better as his lips pressed against the man’s forearm. “Fuck me,” still strained, free hand moving from his erected girth, which had been slick with pre-cum for a while now, just to press at the rising veins that rested at Imalia’s pelvis, “ _Fuck me like you own me_ , Imalia… Let me cum— _yes…_ ”

As the Commander leaned forward, both hands pressed firmly on Dorian’s hips, he gives a low moan, that last, slow thrust pressing every bit of his cock into his squirming necromancer. A shift in their movement, Pavus tangling his fist into soft red locks and the Marcher speeding up his actions, the creaking of their bed almost masking the sound of colliding flesh, this was heaven, even if he was lost in the red-pink gaze of the older Grey Warden.

Roll came with a soft flutter of grey eyes, teeth gripping tightly onto his bottom lip and toes curling, oh—Dorian is reaching his brink, but it must not end. This cannot end. Imalia’s shudders, the way he growls into the nape of Dorian’s sweaty neck, drives him insane. The older mage is so close; he can see his arms quake and hear it in his cracking voice as he swears.

A happy squeal as he’s lifted into Imalia’s arms from the bed as he adjusts into another position keeping the ‘Vint’s legs tight around his legs, sitting upward now and keeping him in his lap. What a beautiful choice of a position—a perfect chance to give him everything he deserves. There’s warmth here, shared between the two the glow of the fireplace bringing adding a bronze shimmer to their skin. Maker, he’s gorgeous…

“M-move. Carus, _move,_ ” rasp in his voice, there’s a stifled gasp against his chest, the heat of his breath bringing goosebumps to dark skin. He’s almost whimpering back and forth—in and out of the light Tevene he knew to the rapid fire Orlesian swearing that brought strong hands roughly at the raven-haired pyromancer’s hips. Leaning back, Dorian mimicked Imalia once he let go, his hands resting on the taller man’s knees as he circled his hips, grinding as harshly as he could. But even then he couldn’t keep himself away from the Commander.

An arm now draped around his neck, fingers knotting themselves back into his hair, forcing another kiss—sweet and passionate, he’s _there,_ and there’s no way he can hold it all back. Free hand back at his cock, Dorian tightens his grip ‘round his girth, stroking as his amatus moans into his throat, pressing into him once more as he can feel the world stop with a ragged “uff” coming with his climax.

Heavy pants and Dorian pushes playfully at the man beneath him, his legs shaking from the steady stream of stickiness that rolled down the both of them. With joy in his eyes (giddiness if he could say that), he presses a last kiss to Imalia, just to hear the man whisper a comforting, _“I love you.”_


	2. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm scattered all over the place where this entire thing is nothing but one shots from the first time they met to the end but also there's no coherent time line. WHOOPS.  
> lmao
> 
> I've also been battling with some really bad writer's block and it feels good to update something. omg also, not all of them will be smut. a guy's gotta get in the right mind for that. lol

It’s hot in Tevinter.

Heat waves waiver in the distance over the bazaar has the crowds push through– slaves on one side, commonwealth on the other. T'is the traffic normal down in the depths of Minrathous. How Dorian hates it with how quiet days seem to have come without his other aiding him in speak of the stars on black nights.

It’s hot. Hotter than usual, but not hot enough to break the clouds over the city and break this disgusting humidity…

Dorian pads away the rolling sweat with his handkerchief, shoulders hunched as he leans across marble pillars overlooking the sea. Boats come in and boats go out– it’s far too quiet here. Alas, he was, succumbed to that god-awful silence, mind gone in a world where he could feel fingers raking against his scalp and hands snaking across his body.

**Wait.**

He  _can_  feel hands snaking across his torso. Here? In this empty lot of a port? His mind wanted to fight, but his body responded, falling back into those palms, rough and calloused as they were as they found his hands.

“It’s hot–”

–in Tevinter…

“–with all that armor, isn’t it?”

He hears a hum, a resounding, soft chuckle of amusement as lips press against his temple.  _How lewd,_  his mind laughs,  _how lewd of an action to do in public._  And Maker take him, he craves for more.

And by the Maker’s whim does he have ringed fingers pushing back red locks as he presses upward to meet wanted lips no matter how chapped his or the other’s are.

As thunder rolls and he tastes that familiar sickly sweet cider among his tongue and the comforting smell of lavender of Imalia’s clothing.

Seems like that heat’s finally going to break in Tevinter after all.


End file.
